


November Storm

by CookieMayhem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gryffindor!Keith, Gryffindor!Shiro, Hufflepuff!Hunk, M/M, Not Beta Read - We Die Like Warriors, Quidditch, Ravenclaw!Allura, Slytherin!Pidge, Swearing, Unimportant Characters, [probably] Gay Keith (Voltron), gryffindor!lance, harry potter!voltron au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieMayhem/pseuds/CookieMayhem
Summary: But Lance wasn’t really listening. He was still watching the winning team as they danced in the rain, loud and shiny and victorious, Keith Kogane lifted high on Shiro’s shoulders. He was smiling, and it was a weirdly foreign look on his face, and even though he had never met him before, Lance thought of magnificent desert blooms that spring to life after a monsoon, and how their impermanence is what makes them special and unique.Storm-dark eyes flashed up to the stands, and Lance freezes in his footsteps.And then he decided, “I’m gonna play for Gryffindor.”





	November Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sunday Bloody Sunday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15046034) by [delusion_al](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusion_al/pseuds/delusion_al). 



It was Lance’s second November at Hogwarts, and the earth was quiet. It felt as if it was making a winter bed for the glittering flowers and scurrying creatures, hiding all manner of life beneath its blankets. The trees of the Forbidden Forest looked to be no more than sticks, and the Whomping Willow glowered at the forest edges, deprived of all greenery.

 

It was usually an extremely disagreeable month, particularly for Lance. The cold crunch of snow underfoot and the raindrops hailing down were not things that the cuban boy appreciated, but he did admire the delicacy of its grace. In November, the lingering scents of Halloween grew stale on the air; the smell of pumpkin squash and sweetened candy apples. He longed for the morning taste of cinnamon and spice. November was disappointing, and yet the people remained warm in more ways than one.

 

In a wistful moment, he remembered his family. Siblings running to each other’s rooms carrying trays of hot chocolate and coffee during unforgiving winter nights, and burying each other mercilessly in pillows. In the bliss of his memories, he remembered the cidery oranges and bright autumn reds, and the velvety indigos of evenings spent trick-or-treating. Today was a banquet of colour as well; he pushed through a sea of scarlet and gold, and emerald and silver. The rolling grey of the clouds hung above, and the atmosphere felt damp, not warm or clammy, but deliciously cold, and he buzzed with excitement.

 

“Where are we going?” Hunk questioned from behind him.

It wasn’t unusual for the boy to be uncomfortable in crowds, his bulky stature stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t wearing the colours of Slytherin or Gryffindor, instead preferring the homey feel of his canary yellow and black scarf.

“The commentator’s stand,” Lance answered, ecstatic. “It’s got the best viewing spot!”

“Don’t you want to be by the goal posts?” Pidge, squashed between him and Hunk, huffed. “You can see them score there.”

“But then you can’t see what’s going on in the centre of the pitch.” The Hufflepuff reasoned, thoughtful.

Pidge hummed and Lance could practically hear the shrug, but he was far too focused on reaching the foot of the tower. It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and the turnout was ridiculous. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and while Pidge had donned her Slytherin scarf, Lance proudly wore his Gryffindor House colours with his chest puffed out. The air was thick with enthusiasm, and after a steady climb of the metal stairs, the trio reached the top of the spectator’s tower. Even in the commentator’s stand, with teachers on the left and right, bodies were pressed hard together chattering and chirping, placing bets. The crowd was so close that Lance swore he could see the steam in the air if he squinted hard enough.

 

He stared down at the empty pitch. He couldn’t help feel a hint of dejection, at the idea that he wouldn’t be on it. He had flunked the September tryouts for Gryffindor Seeker - not on purpose, of course not - but he had been outdone by another person that he didn’t really remember. Lance was displeased, by all means, and it was written all over his face for the two weeks following the tryouts.

 

He tore his eyes from the empty field to briefly scan the towers. A Ravenclaw huddle was settled near Gryffindor’s goal posts, an overall minority compared to the rest of the Houses. Lance scoffed. Ravenclaws were known for being bookworms with insurmountable attention spans (Lance’s own lasted for little more than two seconds at a time), which, he thought, was probably why they hung at the bottom rung of the Quidditch Cup. Hufflepuff easily led the rankings, their Quidditch captain was one hell of a  _ beast _ . Her Beater’s arm was the best that Lance had ever witnessed, and he blanched at the idea of being on the receiving end of one of her surprisingly merciless shots. Slytherin was composed entirely of older students, no younger than third year, and their own Beater was strategic with his bludger work. Gryffindor had prodigy Takashi Shirogane, Gryffindor Goalkeeper, and a new, faceless Seeker that Lance was still bitter towards. Ravenclaw was left with Allura Albright as their only redeeming player.

 

Speaking of whom…

He caught sight of a head of glossy white, chatting animatedly with an unfamiliar professor as he neared the front-left of the commentator’s stand. Her bangs were braided back today, and Lance liked to think it was his favourite on her, and her luminescent eyes were shocking to the core and  _ oh my god, she is  _ so _ pretty _ . A blue ribbon tied the two braids together, and she laughed and it sounded like the soft tinkling of bells, it was ethereal and-

“Lance, _ move _ .” Someone shoved him.

He spluttered, snapped out of his reverie, and ducked a space to the right to make room for Pidge at the front. She eyed him dubiously over her round glasses, as Hunk stood comfortably behind the two.

“You were gawking, lover-boy.” The taller second-year gave him a playful nudge.

“ _ What _ ? I was not-” He started, but was interrupted by Pidge.

“You definitely were.” She chimed.

“Yeah, you definitely were.”

“ _ Wow _ , thanks Hunk.”

“No problem.”

Lance felt slightly guilty for dragging Hunk along, because he knew the Hufflepuff wasn’t particularly interested in Quidditch on his best days. It was selfish for him to want company, just to make himself feel better about not making the team.

 

On Lance’s right, Allura’s conversation with the stranger ceased.

“Oh, hello! I didn’t expect to see you three up here today.” She chirruped sweetly.

Her brows knitted into a state of confusion upon examining the scarves, “Hunk, are you not supporting either of the House teams today?”

The Hufflepuff gave a dismissive shrug, “Mm, I dunno. I’m kinda just, here.”

Pidge dangled her arms over the edge of the booth, as she monotonously added, “You’re not even  _ wearing _ a scarf. Aren’t you cold?”

Allura blinked, felt her neck to be sure, then raised a finger to her chin and mouthed a smooth, ‘oh’.

“I… must’ve forgotten it.” She confessed, face reddening a bit. “How foolish of me.”

Next to her, a man with a violently bright orange moustache that matched his hair, balked.

“Allura!” He squawked, suddenly closer to the whole group. “You’re going to be sick!”

The Ravenclaw smiled, “Don’t be ridiculous. If I wasn’t feeling the cold then, I won’t feel it now.”

The professor did not seem deterred, but when he slid his bright eyes to the trio he instantly lightened.

 

“And who might you three be?” He warbled, in peculiar accent that Lance couldn’t place. “Allura’s friends, perchance?” His voice was both booming and musical, and it made Lance a little uncomfortable.

Lance open his mouth to reply, but Pidge grabbed at his wrist viciously and gave him a look that said,  _ Talk, and all hell will break loose. _ So, wisely, he chose to stay quiet.

“Yes, this is Lance, Hunk and Pidge.” Allura waved a hand in their general direction.

“I’ve seen you before, in the Hufflepuff common room.” Hunk squinted at the man incredulously. “Excuse me, professor, but who exactly are you?”

“This is Professor Coran Smyth,” Allura explained warmly, “He teaches Ancient Runes, and is my guardian.”

“And, you wouldn’t see me much around Hogwarts, because I live in Hogsmeade.” The tall man snarked, and Lance noticed he was a little scrawny otherwise. “Sometimes I like to bowl around the common room to visit the Fat Friar, and have a squizz at the kitchens.”

_ What? _ Lance exchanged a confused glance with Pidge, who looked utterly thrown under her lenses. He turned and nodded along anyway.

“Aren’t you also from Hogsmeade?” He supplied curiously, and when Allura looked away with a distant, dull glint in her eye he instantly regretted it.

“Yes, I am.” She murmured, voice melancholy.

Lance resolved to ask no more unnecessary questions, and he half-wanted to throw himself over the barrier of the commentator’s tower. He leaned back and picked at the threads of his scarf.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Coran started, clearing his throat. “Let me just-  _ Sonorus _ .”

The cuban boy did a double-take,  _ What? He’s the commentator? _

 

Coran welcomed the spectators, and though, the Gryffindor could just barely understand what the odd man was saying, he tuned him out quickly. More people had filtered into the grounds compared to when he and his friends had arrived. The Slytherins appeared to have been using the changing room under the commentator’s stand, because they shot straight up in front of it in a tight v-formation. He watched them blast, jade streaks bold against the gold and red, around the edge of the field, skimming the edges of the each of towers, and setting the crowd into a raucous applause.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Hunk hissed quietly behind them.

Pidge snorted, and Lance just nodded absently. He zeroed in on three figures heading the formation.

_ Acxa Marmora, Zethrid Glenn, and Ezor Hyde _ . Three third-year Chaser girls, already with a vicious reputation on the Quidditch pitch.

 

The first time Lance had seen Glenn, he’d guessed her as a Beater. Her forearms were strong, and her physique was incredibly bulky. He supposed she was picked as Chaser alongside Marmora and Hyde for their teamwork - their unity was seamless, and their cohesion was absolute. They worked in tandem so well that it was almost scary.

 

Lance picked out Ezor Hyde as the prettiest, but he kept that to himself. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and it fell down past her waist. It seemed to shine a million different colours, and paired with her winning smile and dappled skin, she  _ was _ quite beautiful. She didn’t have the fat, dark curls of Glenn, or the curt Highland accent of Marmora that created tension thicker than fog, and he revelled in how  _ fun _ she seemed. The Slytherin Seeker, following up the v-formation, was a lithe girl with long legs. He had heard that she was mute, and the Gryffindor was eager to see for himself. Lance hooted and clapped alongside his friends, and everyone in the Slytherin stands to the left. The stands were filled to the brim in all corners of the field, and he briefly wondered how they managed the capacity.

 

“And now, led by Takashi Shirogane, the Champion, GRYFFINDOR!” Coran hollered.

Allura whooped loudly, and Lance felt it was contagious as the stands on their right exploded like a lion’s roar. Seven scarlet shapes rocketed into the sky from the vomitorium on the opposite end of the pitch, robes rippling along their brooms like fire. Lance immediately recognised Shiro, broad-shouldered and humble (and also quite majestic), leading the charge as they led a tamer lap of the pitch. Lance’s eyes searched, and he picked out a few others.

_ Stephen Gould, Natalia Hamblem, and- wait, who  _ is _ that? _

Hovering above the set of Slytherins down low was a short boy. He sat on his broom with his legs on one side, arms folded with the broodiest look on his face.

“Who  _ is _ that?” Lance snarled, this time out loud.

Coran’s narration entertained his question, “Introducing newbie second-year, Keith Kogane playing as Seeker for the Gryffindor team! Let’s hope he’s not all mouth and no trousers, eh?”

 

Kogane cringed under the applause of the surrounding stands. He swung a leg over his broom and laid his gloved hands on its hilt. He scowled, keeping his gaze low and his shoulders hunched. He saw a flash of red in his periphery, and at once, Shiro was at Kogane’s side giving him a comforting pat.

“Are they… brothers?” Hunk noted, a tone of curiosity. “They kind of look similar.”

“How don’t I know who that kid is?” Lance snapped, half-yelling. “We’re in the same year, and the same House!” He shot a scandalised look at his friends.

Pidge rolled her eyes, and Hunk sighed.

“You probably just ignored him because he wasn’t worth your time.” Chirped the small Slytherin.

“ _ What _ ? I don’t do that, I’m everybody’s friend!” The cuban boy retorted sharply.

“Alright, then who’s that boy you sometimes work with in Herbology?”

Lance stiffened at Hunk’s teasing tone and his question, eyes narrowing. When he came up with nothing, he managed a weak, “I’m not good with faces!”

Pidge chuckled, leaning back against Hunk, “Point proven.”

 

Madam Hooch was on the field in seconds, quaffle in hand. A few moments of dead silence passed in the spectator’s stands as Shiro and the Slytherin captain exchanged a tense handshake, and took their positions in the scrum. The Golden Snitch was liberated, the Bludgers were unleashed, and the Quaffle was airborne. The whistle blew.

The game was on.

 

Slytherin took immediate possession of the Quaffle, a Chaser tearing up the field only to be booked instantly by a Bludger flying in from the left. The Quaffle swapped to Gryffindor, who adopted a Hawk’s Head Formation to force players out of their way. Chasers Hyde and Glenn squished the triangle in from the flanks, and the Quaffle was, again, claimed by Slytherin. Lance muttered indignantly under his breath. The Quaffle went sailing for the Gryffindor goals, but Shiro burst from the leftmost ring and punted the ball with the head of his broom. Lance shrieked in excitement.

 

He could tell it was going to be an exhilarating match, because less than fifteen minutes in, at least eleven common fouls had been committed. He was fairly certain that he spotted Hyde trying to jinx Shiro’s broomstick as he blocked another shot for the goal hoops, but kept himself quiet. It was Quidditch - no holds barred. The Slytherin Seeker was somehow in the thick of it all, ducking Bludger after Bludger in a hunt for the Snitch. Kogane, in comparison, was left alone, probably because he wasn’t worth Slytherin’s time. Lance’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to him, and it was irritating because he was fully intending on watching the Chasers - they were inherently the most interesting players. Yet, Kogane kept intruding on his line of sight, a crimson fleck amongst the green and grey. Though the tally chart was rapidly taking down points and goals, Lance was missing most of them because for  _ some _ reason, he found it more interesting to watch Kogane leisurely peruse the pitch. Contrary to what he had expected at the beginning, the black-haired boy seemed casual on a broom. Almost- no,  _ completely _ natural. Sometimes he would put on bursts of speed and fly erratically, and it reminded Lance of a cuban hurricane.

 

In the distance, he heard thunder scream across the sky, slapping the clouds in a heated turmoil that flew across the south. There was a chill in the air, blue and lush, yet Lance’s mind was on fire. He imagined himself panting in the heat, grasping for a streak of gold just out of his hands. Dust devils skipped underneath him, whistling and shrieking. And when he finally manages to graze the object in front of him-

“And that whistle means its a penalty!” Coran cried.

Lance snapped his head around, wrenching his eyes painfully from Kogane’s form, “What?”

“Penalty,” Allura repeated, strangely calm whilst the stands were howling.

“No, I know, I- what happened? I missed it.”

“Seriously?” Pidge gasped, and when Lance looked at her, he saw how she was  _ alive _ .

She had been uninterested earlier, almost bored, but now her bright brown eyes gave off the telltale glint of excitement, and bliss, and ecstasy.

“How’d you miss it? Zethrid Glenn just snapped a goalpost in half trying to hex Shiro.” Hunk frowned.

“What? Really?” He craned over the edge of the commentator’s booth.

Sure enough, the goalpost had been blasted in two, and it hung limply from a few smouldering splinters.

“What the quiznack?” Lance muttered, half to himself. “How did I  _ miss _ that?”

“Are you alright?” Allura placed a hand on his shoulder. “You weren’t paying any attention.”

Lance swallowed, his skin fizzed at her touch, but he smiled at her and nodded, “Yep. I’m good.”

“You missed the last three goals and didn’t cheer at all when the Seeker - Narti Nathans, I think? - accidentally knocked Gould off his broom. You’re usually all over that stuff.” Pidge elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow, I was… taking mental notes?” He offered, unsure of himself.

Pidge’s eyebrows raised, Allura gave him a curious look, and Hunk chuckled, “Of the Gryffindor Seeker?”

“ _ What _ ?! No!” Lance flushed, for absolutely no reason, because he was  _ not _ staring and the only embarrassing thing was that he had just missed probably the  _ highlight _ of the match-

“You’re thinking of trying out for Seeker?” Allura blinked at him, blue-purple eyes positively glowing.

He gaped for a moment, “I-  _ no. _ Maybe, I mean…” He trailed off.

“Good.” She nodded, finality in her voice. “You’re not fast enough for it. And even though you have long arms and legs, you couldn’t outdo Keith.”

“He hasn’t even done anything.” Lance growled, the bite in his words hidden.

Allura grinned knowingly, turning her attention back to the match as Lance continued grumbling.

 

He refocused on the match as well, just in time to watch a Gryffindor Chaser score. That was definitely where it was at. It was a shame the Slytherin Goalkeeper was such an utter mess, Shiro would never had let such an easy shot in. He watched a Bludger sail off to the right, where it was met by the Beater’s bat of Slytherin fourth-year Lotor Galra, where it then flew in a diagonal up-left motion. Right towards Kogane. Lance’s breath hitched. He watched Kogane’s head lazily swivel, eyeing the Bludger as it approached at an alarming rate. He rolled over on his broom in a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll, and righted himself when the Bludger shot over his head and off toward Acxa Marmora, who kicked it down back at Galra with such aggression that she might’ve broken some toes. Lance’s eyes narrowed as Galra was nearly knocked out of the sky by the Bludger. Kogane made it look like  _ nothing _ , and that frustrated him. And  _ why _ had Marmora reacted so coldly? She almost  _ killed _ one of her own. Lanced huffed in righteous amusement as he watched Galra squawk angrily at Marmora, who only scoffed and shot off.

“Why did she do that?” He snorted, tone light.

“Pardon?” Pidge asked vacantly, eyes focused on where Hyde was wrestling with Hamblem for possession of the Quaffle.

“What? Nothing.”

Kogane continued, blissfully unaware, and Lance was annoyed because  _ what an idiot. Is he even looking for the Snitch? _

He was just blind flying, as if he was waiting for the Snitch to miraculously show up right in front of him. There had been a few sightings already, unless Nathans had been faking it to distract him, and yet - he had attempted nothing. No dives, no grabs, nothing. Did he even know how to play?

It was annoying.  _ Kogane _ was annoying. He was too present, too distracting, always in the way, and yet Lance was  _ still _ watching him, even when there were more exciting things to witness. Like Hyde impaling someone’s robes with her broom, and bolting across the field with them in tow.

Nathans was circling the pitch for the umpteeth time, and when she shot by his stand, he caught a glimpse of the desperation on her expression. So he guessed that, no, she hadn’t seen the Snitch after all. Kogane, close by and maybe searching, paid her no heed. The thunder snarled from behind the clouds. He couldn't wait for it to burst. Lance had loved rainstorms, always. The wetness, the wildness, how the water washed away everything.  _ November _ may be disappointing, but cloudbursts? Absolutely not. The Quidditch match itself felt like a monsoon before the rain,  bubbling and frothing and too hot to manage. All the players hovered, unwilling, above the sandbar, screaming and yelling and kicking and desperate. On the horizon was the familiar castle and the round towers in grey, pink, and blue, growing darker and filling with thunder. Lightning flickered along the castle’s thick walls, painting Hogwarts in bright flashes. And the sun shone with such cruelty that the heavens looked black and white.

 

All colour disappeared, the bright gold-yellow of the sun scaring the world into silence. An illicit hum echoed in his ears.

Because, wait, hold on, it wasn’t sunny. The sun had been covered by the clouds long since before the match had started, the bright round gold in his vision was shiny and moving and  _ holy shit. _

_ That’s the goddamned Snitch. _

He almost screamed. It buzzed right in front of his nose, flickering and taunting on the edge of his sight. Pidge was just as speechless on his left, and Allura was too focused on the match to notice. The object of the game was  _ right in front of his face _ and he could barely breath.

 

Keith Kogane’s head snapped around, giving anyone watching him whiplash. He honed in the commentator’s stand, and he  _ dived _ .

 

Lance’s entire world slowed down. He saw the whiteness of the lightning rip through the sky. The thick heavy trees, leafless but not lifeless, were brushed with streaks of silver, and a wind caressed his forehead. At the same time, there was a long roll of thunder that began behind the stands on the far side of the pitch, came up and down the mountains and valleys of air, passed over the players’ heads and left them swaying. Before he could even blink, Kogane was there, and he had stopped, mere inches from his face, hanging upside down on his broom in another flawless Sloth-Grip Roll. One arm was outstretched, fingers closed around the Snitch. It buzzed weakly by Lance’s ear, having failed horrendously at trying to make a quick exit, and he was left with no barrier between himself and this dark-eyed, red flame, bohemian hurricane boy. His red and gold robes and soft black hair hung limply from his body, and he had pale skin and a guarded expression and Lance wasn’t sure where to look because everywhere seemed  _ wrong. _

 

The boy’s eyes were just as wide and shocked and curious as his own and Lance’s breath had left him.

It felt like a million blazing suns had lit his insides, the stark heat chasing away anything else. He was having trouble comprehending the sudden change in his world, as he swelled with a billowing fire. Lance wasn’t sure how long Kogane stayed there, but he stared, and so did Lance, and it felt like forever. But whatever was happening stopped as soon as Coran’s voice let out a high-pitched trill and the whistle was blown. Hollers, bellows, whoops and cheers filled the stadium, resonant and euphoric, and Kogane pulled away, hoisting himself upright and bolting down to the center of the pitch like an acromantula was poised on the walls in the background. He moved languidly, instinctively, in a way that made Lance’s stomach twist with envy.

 

“Keith Kogane has caught the Golden Snitch! One hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindor Seeker disappeared into a mass of gold and scarlet, and Lance barely registered the chant of ‘Go, go, Gryffindor!’ because seriously.

_ What just happened. _

“Whoa,” Pidge breathed. “That was  _ amazing _ .”

“How did he do that?” Hunk gasped, uncharacteristically excited. “He came out of nowhere!”

“You didn’t tip him off or anything, did you Lance?” Pidge drawled. “He was all up in your business.”

Lance’s face burned, and he could  _ feel _ it.

“Wh- I, of  _ course _ not! I barely even noticed the Snitch was there! It was  _ right in my face _ and then suddenly - so was he? What? How did he even know it- I- it was there?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, “Whoa, buddy. Calm down. You’re going red.”

“Wh-” His sentence tailed away.

“I forgot to tell you Keith was brilliant,” Allura practically purred, as she rose to her feet. “Sorry.”

 

Amidst the roars and the cheering, Lance could only turn and stare down at the sandbank, feeling hot and restless. His heart pounded rapidly and his limbs prickled, it unnerved him. Words could not describe his relief at the first raindrop that struck the ground. Others followed, light yet unforgiving. The clouds reached down to touch the earth, and then a curtain of water fell and shattered across the castle and its grounds with a terrifying roar, drenching and extinguishing him instantly. Lance inhaled for what felt like the first time in forever; the air was gritty, then pure and clean. He shivered and drew his wet scarf tighter around his neck. Heavy drops beat on his shoulders and back like bullets, and he rocked slowly on his heels, his thoughts silenced by the violence of the November storm.

“We should really get out of the rain,” Hunk shouted, over the screaming wind. “Or we’ll get sick.”

But Lance wasn’t really listening. He was still watching the winning team as they danced in the rain, loud and shiny and victorious, Keith Kogane lifted high on Shiro’s shoulders. He was smiling, and it was a weirdly foreign look on his face, and even though he had never met him before, Lance thought of magnificent desert blooms that spring to life after a monsoon, and how their impermanence is what makes them special and unique.

 

Storm-dark eyes flashed up to the stands, and Lance froze in his footsteps.

And then he decided, “I’m gonna play for Gryffindor.”

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more, who knows


End file.
